


i wanna take you away

by brofluvski



Series: on & on [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: 17-19 range, Aged-Up Character(s), Cartman in Drag, Drag, Kyman - Freeform, Love/Hate, M/M, One Shot, Undressing, they're like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 10:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17917307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brofluvski/pseuds/brofluvski
Summary: Cartman's in drag and Kyle's in his feelings.***- part of my one-shot request series from tumblr -





	i wanna take you away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Creatortan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creatortan/gifts).



> this is _enamour me/zip me_ for a series of one-shots I'm doing from a tumblr tag/request list!! feel free to send me other reqs [here](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/post/183007939819/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-prompt). technically, these are supposed to be drabbles, but UH, clearly I wrote a little more than that (;
> 
> thanks for the req @ creo !! ♡
> 
> ✿HMU✿  
> discord: lai#1475  
> peep my sp [tumblr](https://kylebiased.tumblr.com/) (also @kylebiased if the link doesn't work!)

“Sincerely, fuck you.”

“You don’t mean that, Kyle.”

“Yes, I do. You ruined my fucking birthday.”

“Last I checked, we’re still at a fucking nightclub, _Kyle.”_

That was true. That much was true; they were sitting in Stan’s car outside a pounding nightclub, as Kyle tried his best to untangle the _most, over-the-top_ wig he’d yet had the displeasure of watching Eric Cartman flounce around in that evening, from the zipper of his plus-sized dress. The kind of dress that was all cinched in the middle and you couldn’t breathe in, but damn, it was eye-catching, so he had to wear it. Had to wear it for _Kyle Broflovski,_ specifically, as he was, Eric Cartman. And it was Kyle’s birthday. Which was exactly the scenario; as Cartman had promised he and Kyle’s two other best-friends entrance to a club, only for him and Kyle to be denied entrance.

“I can’t believe they went in without us,” Kyle scoffed. “They were supposed to get us inside and it’s been 45 minutes. Fucking assholes.”

“I know right.”

“No, you don’t get to agree with me. You’re the reason we’re in this fucking mess in the first place. Why do I ever trust you?” Kyle glared. He was so tempted to just angrily _tug_ at the damn zipper, but Cartman was such a fucking _baby._ “You really had to get us the two fucking _fakest_ looking fake IDs?”

“Why do you think it’s called a fake ID, Kyle?”

 _Don’t do it. Don’t punch him. Not when he’s dressed like..._ this, _that’d be wrong…_

He hadn’t so much as hit him since the fifth grade, anyway.

“I don’t look anything like my fake ID. You purposely fucking got me a bad fake ID, and now it backfired on you, ‘cause neither of us is getting into this fucking club, so I hope you’re happy with yourself, Cartman,” he shook his head. “You’re such a douche.”

“Am I a _cute_ douche?” he grinned.

 _A bit._ But just a bit. Kyle found it a little bizarre and intriguing, how well Cartman could do his own makeup. Eyeshadow, liner, gloss. Maybe he wasn’t cute. He was _pretty,_ but only when he was in drag. Regular Eric Cartman wasn’t cute. _Or_ pretty. _“No,”_ he murmured. “Why the hell’d you even insist on coming in drag?”

“Because, Kyle, god, don’t you ever watch reality TV?”

_“No.”_

“The hot girls always get into the club free. And the sluts get free drinks,” he stated as if it were nothing but factual. “Here you are, calling me a “douche” when I was only trying to get us a few free drinks. I bet you feel like a real fucking asshole right about now.”

“Hot girls, huh?” he mumbled. Finally, he’d gotten a bit of traction from the zipper. Cartman insisted Kyle help him undress. Not for _that_ reason, but he’d made a huge scene about “suffocating” and how it’d be “manslaughter” if Kyle refused to help him out of his two-sizes-too-small dress, and he died of asphyxiation. Which Kyle thought was _bullshit._ But in the safety of Stan Marsh’s car, he didn’t care. He’d do what it took to shut up all of his whining, and tonight he’d go as far as kissing his glossed lips if it meant Cartman would just stop. Fucking. _Talking,_ because he really _was_ pretty. “You’re neither of those things.”

“Kyle, I don’t think that type of language is very PC.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, I’m waiting!” he rolled his eyes. “Why else would you be _undressing_ me, baby?”

“Fuck off,” he sighed. But _grrrr,_ by _god,_ Eric Cartman was a pain in the ass, but a pain in the ass that looked good enough to _k i s s ,_ in sheer blush and that sparkly shit YouTube makeup gurus dusted across their cupid’s bows...what was it called, again? _Highlighter?_ Kyle should have known. His last ex-girlfriend _loved_ that shit, but Cartman wore it better. Fuck him for that.

“Don’t tug,” Cartman snapped. “I have pins in my hair.”

“Why can’t you just take off your fucking wig?” Kyle hissed. “Then we can get the hell out of here.”

“Because, Kyle, it’d ruin the _illusion,”_ he groaned. “Besides. I like that it makes you angry. You’re hot when you’re angry.”

“Yeah, _yeah…”_ Kyle muttered. The club pounded. He couldn’t recognize the bassline, but he knew Cartman could because he was softly singing along between breaks in conversation. It was an old Rihanna song. Maybe Britney. _Not_ Britney. “That why you’re always so determined to piss me off?”

“Mostly,” he shrugged. “You’re generally amusing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The wig came untangled. Kyle tugged the zipper down Cartman’s back and both sighed with relief. Cartman, because he really had been suffocating (a little bit. Eh, kinda). Kyle, because he _hated_ that he found Cartman in a wavy blonde wig and sleazy holographic dress a little _too_ appealing.

“There,” he shrugged. “Now you can quit bitching.”

“Thanks, babe.”

_Babe._

Kyle ran his hands down Cartman’s back. His skin was soft and red around the edges where the dress had once been, only a bra and something he regretfully recognized from doing his family’s laundry as shapewear, remaining. He had few freckles and if Kyle turned him over and stripped any further, he’d see the scar across Cartman’s abdomen, from that time he’d surrendered a kidney to him. A scar they shared. “You really shouldn’t wear shit like this,” Kyle muttered. “You’re gonna get a rash from all the friction.”

“I don’t mind friction,” he shrugged. He leaned back softly and Kyle felt his arms steady Cartman naturally as if it were his second nature. Which it was, metaphorically, and on the odd occasion that really wasn’t _that_ odd, steadying Eric Cartman was something of muscle memory. “Not if it’s with you.”

“Yeah. Believe me, I know,” Kyle sighed, leaning back against the window of the car, with his hands instinctively tangled in Cartman’s wig. “You’ve made that more than clear with your little stunt tonight.”

“Maybe I just wanted a little quality time with you,” Cartman sneered, shifting his back against Kyle’s chest.

“So you purposely got us awful IDs?” Kyle muttered. Their arms brushed up against each others'. “Big fucking surprise.”

Cartman only sighed, resting his head against Kyle’s chest. _Victory._ “Happy birthday, Kyle.”

They could remain like that forever, but wouldn’t. Not when it was too easy to pick a new fight and start from square one again. But of course, neither minded the friction. The bickering that lead into “abandoned” tenderness. If Kyle minded it any less, he might have found himself tangled in the back with Eric Cartman’s makeup smeared across the seat and all of his precious, remaining, self-respect out of the window.

But lying together like this wasn’t so bad and if he closed his eyes and drowned out all of his thoughts, Kyle could pretend he didn’t like it so much.

“Yeah…” he whispered, feeling Cartman’s body shift right into place, up against his. “Happy birthday to me.”

Now all there was to do was wait.

 _One_ of them had to pick at a fight at _some_ point.

Maybe tonight they'd skip that part.


End file.
